THE VIETNAM WAR’S LONG SHADOW: A VETERAN’S STORY OF BROTHERHOOD AND LOSS

Sarge had two tours in Vietnam. The war changed him. The injury kept him from a third, but he made it out with his life and a disability pension. They gave him more than a few medals for bravery — the highest rank he earned was Gunnery Sergeant, seven stripes. He was a man who’d seen too much ever to be comfortable with easy words like “hero.”

Back in civilian life, he sold beverages. I met him once at a muscular dystrophy fundraiser. He was a short, stocky, quiet man who didn’t need to speak much to tell you what he thought. He married a petite woman from a family with money. They said she had her troubles, but no one ever mentioned more than that. She had her breakdowns — public ones, too — but Sarge didn’t talk about it. He just took it on the chin and hid her from the nasty things people said when they didn’t understand.

We’d meet now and then at Ben’s Deli on 7th Avenue. I liked the place — good tuna salad, and the smell of it always made me feel like I was where I was supposed to be. I didn’t need to look for Sarge. He’d find me, no matter how crowded the place was. He’d walk over, sit down, and never bother with formal greetings. Just a veteran meeting another veteran, simple as that.

I’d been to his house a few times in Port Washington. It was a nice place, a…